


quiet comfort

by emavee



Series: Dick & Dami Week 2021 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, No Plot/Plotless, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), soft, with an emphasis on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: Dick, Damian, and the Food Network after a brush with fear gas.For Dick & Dami Week 2021: Comfort
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Dick & Dami Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198052
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	quiet comfort

**Author's Note:**

> the boys are soft and watch Chopped. that's it. that's the whole thing

“But why would they give them something that takes multiple hours to properly cook, if they only have thirty minutes to do so?”

Dick laughs softly, brushing Damian’s hair back off of his forehead. It’s almost completely dry from his shower earlier, soft and tangle-free between Dick’s fingers. Damian has long-since given up on sitting straight and stoic on the opposite side of the couch, now leaning entirely against Dick’s chest.

“For the drama, baby bat. It wouldn’t be good TV if they didn’t make things extra difficult.”

Damian harrumphs quietly. His pout is adorable and thankfully nothing like the face he’d had on when he first wandered into the living room. 

Fear gas has always been one of Dick’s least favorite things about Gotham. At least now they have a pretty good antidote at the ready, and Dick has nearly a decade of experience working through the anxiety and ignoring the hallucinations. Damian is newer at it, and although Batman had gotten the cure into his Robin within the hour, it had still been agony to watch Damian flinch at shadows, something hollow and haunted in his eyes. He’s only ten years old. No ten year old should ever wear that expression.

Dick hadn’t even bothered to try to sleep, and Alfred had enough experience to know not to try and persuade him to. He had set up shop in the living room, TV quiet as he channel surfed until coming to a rest on the Food Network and curling up on the corner of the couch. 

He and Bruce used to watch old black and white detective stories after bad nights. Dick can’t bring himself to pull the box sets out of the cabinet and watch them now. The all-night Chopped marathon will have to do in its place.

He’d been two and a half episodes in when Damian wandered in, looking younger than Dick had ever seen him. His hair had been a tangled mess, sticking straight up in some places and giving Dick the distinct impression that he’d been tossing and turning in his bed for some time. Likely because he couldn’t manage to fall asleep; Damian is still in his nightmares, nothing giving away his distress other than a pinched expression and the occasional near-silent whimper. There had been dark shadows under his eyes, looking downright strange when paired with his flannel pajamas and socked feet. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick had called. Damian was frozen in the doorway, clearly not expecting to find Dick also awake. 

“I apologize,” Damian had stuttered out. Dick’s heart cracked at how unsure he’d sounded. “I was not aware you were in here. I will leave you be, Grayson.”

“It’s alright, Damian. Hey. Come here.” Dick patted the couch beside him.

Hesitantly, Damian had approached the couch slowly, sparing the TV a single questioning glance. “What are you doing?”

Dick shrugged. “My brain was too busy to sleep. This is somewhat relaxing. Here, come join me.”

Damian sat down at the far end of the couch, practically pressed against the opposite arm. He’d kept himself right on the edge, feet firmly planted on the floor, ready to stand and move at a moment’s notice. Unsure of what else to say, Dick had let the quiet stretch between them, filled only by the sound of Ted announcing the basket ingredients for the dessert round. Mozzarella sticks felt like an interesting choice for dessert ingredients. 

“What on earth are you watching?” Damian finally said, his evident disgust at Dick’s entertainment choices bringing life back into his voice.

Dick grinned. “Chopped. It’s a competition cooking show where each round they have to use these super weird ingredients.”

Damian folded his arms across his chest, turning his nose up at the screen. “Tt. It sounds ridiculous.” But he hadn’t moved, not for a long time, gaze locked on the TV.

They’d sat like that for a long, long time, just watching in silence. It was nearing four a.m. and the start of a new episode when Damian began to shift, inching his way towards Dick until he was close enough that Dick could reach out and ruffle his hair.

He did just that, watching his baby brother carefully as he stiffened slightly before relaxing further, his body slumping back against the cushions. Honestly, the next thirty minute or so were a blur, and Dick could not for the life of him remember when he’d reached out to pull Damian in or when Damian had let him, falling heavy against Dick’s chest. 

But they’re here now, together in the dim flickering light of the television. Dick’s eyes are starting to burn from looking at the screen for so long and one of his legs is asleep, the other one definitely about to follow, what with Damian’s weight squishing them into the couch. Damian scoffs as yet another contestant forgets a basket ingredient in their dish.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asks quietly, never ceasing to scratch lightly at Damian’s scalp.

Damian shakes his head. “No. Do you? I am not really in the mood to discuss my own…” He trails off, gaze going distant for just a moment. “But I am more than willing to listen if you need to talk to someone.”

Dick leans down to drop a kiss to Damian’s temple. “You’re a good kid. I’m okay, Damian. Thank you though. It means a lot.”

Damian nods, then burrows closer. Dick grabs the blanket to keep it from slipping off of Damian’s shoulders. 

“Crane is back to rotting in his cell,” Damian says. “Where he belongs.”

“He is. And hey, you did a good job tonight, Robin.”

Damian flushes slightly at the name—Dick doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how much pride Damian takes in being Robin. “Don’t be ridiculous, Grayson. I froze.”

“You didn’t freeze,” Dick chides gently. “At least, not any more than anyone else who just got a face full of fear gas would. It messes with everyone. Even Bruce had a hard time working through fear gas. You did exceptionally well for someone who has only experienced it once before.”

“But you had to rescue me.”

Dick shrugs. “So? That’s what I’m there for. We’re partners, kiddo. You watch my back and I watch yours.”

“We protect each other.”

“Exactly,” Dick says with a nod. Damian still sometimes gets that confused. He doesn’t always understand that Batman is supposed to protect his Robin, even more so than Robin is supposed to be Batman’s backup. Not that Dick had been a whole lot better at his age, but at least he’d had some sense of self preservation. Damian seems to think that it’s his job to take as many hits as he can for Batman, despite the fact that Dick’s armor is a lot more durable than Damian’s Robin costume, and that’s saying something given how much extra protection Dick and Alfred had added in after Damian had been shot.

It’s a very real fear of Dick’s, that Damian puts everyone else’s life above his own, unwilling to believe that he deserves to not be the one to hurt just because he’s used to pain. Why doesn’t he realize just how precious he is? How important he is to Dick and Alfred and the whole entire world?

His grip tightens slightly around Damian’s hand, but if Damian senses anything out of the ordinary, he makes no indication of it. 

“Why must they always go to commercial right before announcing the winner,” Damian whines, making Dick laugh. “I want to know if that woman is going to get the money she needs to expand her restaurant.”

“Patience, Dami. I know you have it. I’ve sat with you on seven hour stakeouts.”

Damian harrumphs quietly. “This is not the same thing and you know it.”

“Yeah, I think the three minutes of commercials is easier to sit through than seven hours on a roof. Gotham is  _ cold. _ You’re warm.” 

“Hm. Pennyworth should go on this show.”

“I don’t know about that. Alfie’s a great cook, but I don’t think he’d like having to use some of these ingredients. If you handed Alfred those mozzarella sticks and told him to make something with them, I think he’d just walk out.”

“Well that only serves to highlight how ridiculous this program is then.”

“Do you want to watch something else?” Dick pulls away slightly, reaching for the remote.

“No,” Damian says quickly. “I mean… Clearly you enjoy this show, as mindless as it is. We can keep watching. If you want to.”

“Alright then.” Dick relaxes again. Absently, Damian plays with their interlaced fingers. “You can sleep if you want, kiddo. I’ll wake you up if you start having any nightmares.”

Damian is silent for a long moment, so long that Dick thinks he’s just not going to answer. That’s okay, he’s perfectly content with the quiet, with the feeling of his little brother in his arms. They don’t need to talk at all.

“One more episode,” Damian finally says, voice heavy with drowsiness. Dick would put a decent amount of money on him not making it to the first commercial break. That’s okay. He’s not going anywhere.


End file.
